


Arthur's Secret Santa Nightmare

by wali21



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Arthur (Inception), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Happy Ending, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, Kissing, M/M, Overstimulation, Secret Saito Gift Exchange, Secret Saito Gift Exchange 2020, Shower Sex, Smut, Swearing, Top Eames (Inception)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wali21/pseuds/wali21
Summary: Arthur grudgingly organizes the Secret Santa exchange for the entire underworld dreamsharing community at the biggest celebration of the year.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33
Collections: Secret Saito 2020





	Arthur's Secret Santa Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teacuphuman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/gifts).



> Prompt: Anonymous and "make it happy, please"
> 
> I sincerely apologize for how long this has taken me to post. I hope you can forgive me. I also hope you get some enjoyment from this fic. <3
> 
> Big THANK YOU to dei for running this exchange! 
> 
> THANK YOU to all who read/click this! You are amazing and make my day SO BRIGHT! I adore each and every one of you! <3!

Secret Santa.

A dreadful idea concocted by a young French woman and her meddling mishmash of underworld contacts.

Supposedly it’s a celebration.

A way to let off steam after a year of dangerous contracts and even more dangerous downtime.

It is the one day a year that all of underground dreamsharing gets together, jobs put on hold or not taken entirely.

Not suspicious at all, right? Arthur huffs, contemptuously.

It is Arthur’s worst nightmare having all of the illegal underworld dreamsharing community in one place at one time.

Every Point Man or Woman worth his or her salt is on edge that day. Most still join in the festivities and are a little liberal with the spiked, holiday punch, but are still on guard enough to take out as many targets as necessary.

Arthur, of course, abstains.

No matter how much his friends – if you can actually call them friends – try and convince him otherwise.

And now, somehow, it is a tradition.

A holiday celebration every year with the entirety of illegal dreamshare in attendance.

Arthur wants to shoot a few hundred projections just contemplating the mess that this year’s party will undeniably hold.

It is the one day of the year Eames knows not to fuck with him.

***

One year Dom received a sparkly, bright pink dildo from his Secret Santa. It has been burnt permanently into Arthur’s mind; he can describe the exact length and thickness, name the shade of pink, and remember the expression on Cobb’s face and the blush blooming vividly on his skin.

Eames had loved it, of course. Laughing uproariously the entire time Cobb blankly stared at the thing while holding it.

And naturally it was Mal who’d been Dom’s Secret Santa. Arthur somehow should’ve guessed that as soon as he saw the giant dildo.

Arthur had never wanted to think of their bedroom antics, thank you very much.

There is a melancholy feeling every time Arthur thinks of that day.

***

From that day forth, Arthur arranges their annual Secret Santa exchange and matches recipients together via a unique algorithm he designs himself. So far, there haven’t been any mishaps or uncomfortable gifts exchanged.

There are still prank gifts, of course, but nothing that’ll scar Arthur for the rest of his life.

At least when Eames gives a gift now, Arthur must approve of it before it gets distributed; one of the many compromises in their relationship. 

The legendary parties have become a yearly tradition that now involves a whole committee that gets together throughout the year to plan their newest spectacle.

And, of course, Eames sits on the board.

He loves it, too. Always happy on committee days.

Arthur thinks all they do is sit around and drink and gossip like little grannies the entire time. 

Somehow, throughout the year, they do acquire an event space – one that Arthur usually detests – obtain elaborate decorations, transforming a usually bland place into a holiday wonderland, and concoct a festive punch that flows freely all day and night. 

“Arthur, will you take a break, please?” Eames asks, shouting from down the hall.

Arthur doesn’t answer immediately, immersed in his work and so close to finishing a line of code for his algorithm.

“Arthur?”

“Hush. Almost done.”

Arthur’s fingers fly over the keys, typing like a madman to input the needed variables before he loses his rhythm.

Arthur can feel Eames behind him and off to the side but pays it no attention. Eames has a lot of experience in waiting for him to finish his work.

Gradually, the tapping of fingers over keys trickles down into nothingness and Arthur rereads his work before turning around and facing Eames.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“You okay?”

“What is it you wanted, Eames?” Arthur asks, sounding stressed even to his own ears.

“I want you to take a break.”

“I can’t right now.”

Arthur swivels his chair back around, casually dismissing the rest of the conversation, and begins to cross-reference data, switching rapidly between tabs in his spreadsheet, eyes moving quickly back and forth across the screen. 

“Arthur.”

“Go away, Eames. I need to finish this so I can send out the results.”

Eames lets out a long breath, air dispelling from his mouth in a huff.

“You can work on that later. Come outside with me and we can have a cuppa.”

“How about I stay here and work and you bring me the tea?”

“Nice try, darling. You need some fresh air.”

“Then open a window. I don’t have time for tea on the balcony, Eames. I have more than three dozen names and their preferences to still input and then I need to check over everything before I run the algorithm. Tea will have to wait.”

The tread of feet over hardwood sounds from behind Arthur, then hands rest on his shoulders. A quick squeeze and they disappear for an instant before coming back and digging into the tense muscles.

“Oh, fuck,” Arthur moans out suddenly, Eames hands doing magic to the stiff muscles.

Eames laughs softly from behind Arthur, making the little curls at the back of his head rise and fall, fingers digging in deeper, causing Arthur to let out another groan.

Arthur tries to go back to their conversation but it’s not easy with Eames’ hands soothing the stiffness away.

“Not to mention over half the dreamsharing community has changed their preferred method of communication by now,” Arthur rants, even though he often does the exact same thing to keep them safe.

Eames hums, “Not all of them.”

“Well, yes. Only the smart ones.”

Eames lets out a laugh, “See, so less work for you.”

Arthur grunts.

“And don’t tell me everyone we know doesn’t jump at the chance to give you their contact information. And keep it updated. They all want the best jobs.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. That doesn’t mean I won’t have to track a few down.”

“You are the best Point Man in the business; I’m positive you’ll get it finished soon.”

Arthur smiles openly, an instinctive reaction when Eames bestows compliments. They’ve come a long way in their relationship.

“I’m a bit miffed they don’t do the same for me. But don’t tell anyone that, love. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

“What reputation?”

“Ouch, that hurts, that does, darling.”

“Does not. And they’d give you their information too, Eames, if you’d actually bother using it.”

“Uh-huh, but it’s much easier when you take care of that kind of thing, Arthur.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, snorting.

“Please, Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“You need a rest. How about a cuppa, a proper massage, and those chocolates you fancy, darling?”

“I’ll take one when I’m done, Eames. Now stop being tempting,” Arthur replies between undignified noises.

“I’m always tempting,” Eames declares, smirk obvious in his voice.

Arthur feels a flush infuse his cheeks.

Eames’ words so very true.

“I still have to sift through that information as well. I swear this year is worse than the last.”

“You still have plenty of time to work on that monstrous spreadsheet of yours, love.”

Arthur slumps in his chair, dislodging one of Eames’ arms and running a hand through messy hair, pulling lightly at the strands.

“It’s like all of dreamshare forgets I actually have a life.”

“Aww, pet,” Eames leans over the back of Arthur’s chair and hugs him.

Arthur wraps his arms over Eames’, giving a semblance of a hug back.

It feels wonderful.

He closes his eyes, a hint of a smile gracing his face.

Arthur comes to a decision.

“Leave me alone for another 2 hours and I’ll take a break then.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, yes. Promise, Mr. Eames.”

“Can’t wait, darling. I’ll create something special,” Eames replies, slowly unwrapping himself from around Arthur and planting a kiss to the crown of his head.

He should probably be worried about that sentence but he has enough on his mind.

Arthur goes back to typing furiously on his laptop as Eames’ footsteps disappear from the room.

***

2 hours pass.

Not that Arthur is checking his watch or anything. He’s too absorbed in his creation to keep track of something so trivial as time.

Arthur isn’t even halfway done. Too many new faces and added personal and professional data to add to his algorithm. And of course removing the ones that aren’t a part of dreamshare anymore.

Arthur tries not to think about the names he is deleting.

He hears soft footsteps coming closer but doesn’t turn around. He knows Eames’ stride no matter what form he is in.

“Arthur, darling, if you’d be so kind as to step away from the laptop.”

Arthur turns slowly around in his chair.

Eames does a sweeping gesture with his hand, other arm horizontal, a small towel draped over it, looking like some kind of sommelier or waiter at a high-end restaurant.

Except the effect is ruined by his wardrobe.

Arthur can’t deny that Eames still looks delicious braced against the doorframe, arm out still, waiting on Arthur to come to him. 

“You did promise.”

Arthur is torn between his work and his obviously hardworking lover.

Really, it’s no competition at all.

He stands up, stretching his aching body, arms towards the sky and back popping, and heads towards Eames.

“Mr. Eames.”

“Darling.”

“What’s all this then?”

“I said I’d make something special.”

“You didn’t have to, you know.”

“I know. But you’ve earned a lovely night after all the work you’ve been doing.”

“C’mere, Eames.”

Arthur beckons, waiting while Eames steps forward into his personal space, then places both hands on his shoulders, pulling him flush with his body.

He leans in and brushes their lips together tenderly.

Eames deepens it.

For a moment, they get lost in each other.

The towel flutters to the floor, forgotten.

***

Dinner is quite an affair.

The dining area is set for a romantic evening, the nicest china they own lines the table, small votive candles adorn the center, allowing them the ability to stare at the other if so desired.

Eames’ cooking is always a nice surprise. And when it’s one of Arthur’s favorite dishes it is even more special.

Arthur can’t wait to thank Eames properly for it.

He smirks, smugly, knowing just what he wants to do.

Throughout their dinner, Arthur lets his bare foot leisurely slip inside the leg of Eames’ loose, patterned trousers, easily letting flesh meet flesh, cold toes against warm skin. At the first touch, Eames jerks in his chair, eyes immediately meeting Arthur’s gaze.

Arthur smirks, biting into the bottom of his lip, smoldering look thrown Eames’ way.

He stares at Eames as he swallows hard, fingers of one hand grasping onto the edge of the table as Arthur’s toes slide further up his muscled leg.

Arthur goes back to his meal, like nothing is happening under the table, but continues to tease Eames while he delicately cuts into his food, enjoying seeing the way such a simple touch affects his lover.

Arthur continues his stimulating attack during dessert, a tiny plate filled with various mini-cakes and fancy chocolates.

Arthur slides his fork through the first of the petit-fours, the first bite he tastes is sinful. Dark chocolate and pomegranate burst across his taste buds.

Arthur moans around his mouthful.

Eames groans right after him.

He hasn’t touched his dessert yet.

Arthur takes Eames’ plate and sets it in front of himself, fork gliding through the soft layers of cake. He holds up the next forkful to Eames’ lips.

Eames stares at Arthur, fists clenched on the sides of the table, ruining the nice tablecloth.

Neither of them move.

“Eames.”

Eames swallows, then slowly opens his mouth, gaze locked on Arthur’s eyes while Arthur pushes the cake into his mouth. He pulls back, tines of the fork clinking against Eames’ teeth before Eames closes his lips, chewing and swallowing the piece of cake. Arthur observes Eames’ face for his reaction – that pleasurable expression only the very finest foods can produce – then goes back to the plate for another bite for himself.

He closes his eyes tightly this time, whimpering helplessly at the taste of dark chocolate ganache filled with strawberries and lush crème engulfing his palate. Arthur takes a minute to savor the exquisite flavors before opening his eyes again.

Eames is staring hungrily at Arthur’s mouth. 

Arthur grins, licking his lips lasciviously. Arousal throbs under his skin. 

Eames’ fingers tighten on the corners of the table.

Arthur tugs on one of Eames’ hands, wrinkled tablecloth flaring back into place, gently settling it in his own hand.

Arthur enjoys sliding their fingers over each other, playing with the sensitive pads of Eames’ hand, getting to watch him shut his eyes, breath hitching every time an especially hypersensitive patch of skin is stroked.

He smiles, happy to indulge Eames in one of his favorite sensations.

“Darling,” Eames chokes out between caresses.

“Shh, just enjoy it, Eames.”

Arthur discards the fork, instead feeding him decadent bites of dessert from his other hand, Arthur’s fingers messy and yet so sweetly slipping along Eames’ plush lips.

He slips those same fingers into his own mouth, sucking them of the melted chocolate and smeared cream then slides his thumb back over Eames’ lips, cleaning up the chocolate lying there, stroking the smooth lips, unable to help himself.

Eames shudders.

Arthur thinks watching Eames shudder at his touch is one of the best feelings in the world.

Arthur loves being a tease.

Eames might not admit it, but he loves it when Arthur toys with him.

Loves letting Arthur get him as sexually frustrated as possible, until he is practically begging Arthur to come out of his office and give him relief.

And Arthur, he loves Eames coming apart in front of him.

It is mesmerizing. 

They finish dessert in a lust-filled haze.

***

Arthur is making plans.

***

Arthur and Eames move together seamlessly after dessert – little plumes of smoke whispering through the air when the candles go dark, the clinking of plates while washing the dishes, the flutter while straightening out the tablecloth – all the while not talking about what just happened.

In the middle of their dance around one another, there’s an instant of stillness, a moment facing towards each other – staring.

The silence is overwhelming.

Arthur breaks it.

“Find me when you’re done.”

Arthur leaves Eames in the kitchen, debating his next move. He heads towards their bedroom instead of back to his laptop, slipping easily down the hallway while Eames puts away the rest of their leftover dinner in the refrigerator. 

***

Arthur leisurely walks to their bedroom, peeling himself out of his comfortable sweater, letting it drop unceremoniously to the ground. His T-shirt is all rucked up, bare strip of skin with little wisps of hair showing.

Arthur doesn’t bother fixing it.

Barefoot and in only a thin T-shirt and jeans and Arthur already feels naked. He shivers, looking forward to the rest of their night. 

He can barely stand waiting for Eames to come to him.

Arthur’s heart is thumping quickly in his chest. 

He wants Eames to wreck him.

Or maybe the other way around.

Bending Eames over the bed.

Taking him without mercy.

Arthur is flexible.

But maybe not tonight.

Tonight, he wants Eames inside him, filling him up, breaking down the walls he always carries around. 

He wants Eames to take him.

Ruin him.

Fuck the stress right out of him.

For him to hurry up and follow Arthur into the bedroom and strip him bare, press them together until Arthur can’t help but beg him for more.

It takes a lot to get Arthur to beg.

But he is confident Eames can get him there.

He always does when Arthur needs it.

Arthur grins, devilishly.

He can’t wait.

***

Arthur sits on the bed, lying back and stretching along the bedspread, arms spread out to reach the edges of the bed, and impatiently counts down the minutes until Eames reaches him.

He feels a thrum beneath his skin. An itch to have Eames all over him, pressing him down, pushing Arthur into the bed, the wall, the floor. Giving Arthur long, harsh kisses, licking into his mouth with that wicked tongue of his. 

Arthur’s eyes flutter shut, licking his lips, remembering the way Eames had reacted and the noises he’d made while Arthur had fed him dessert.

Can imagine Eames reliving the same moments while he’s in the kitchen. 

It is always so hot teasing Eames.

A tremor overtakes Arthur’s body, a gasp falling from slack lips.

Arthur can’t wait to taste Eames’ lips again. Those lips he loves to kiss, to touch, to have pressing all over him. Arthur moves his own fingers to his lips, digging a nail into the bottom one, craving the sweet pain.

Fuck, he’s making himself hard in his jeans.

He skims one hand down his chest – slowly, slowly, caressing the curves of his body – until he reaches his cock confined in soft denim. He rubs lightly over his hardness, head thrown back, and a hardly audible moan sneaking past his lips.

Eames needs to hurry the fuck up.

Arthur is done waiting.

“Eames!” Arthur shouts, the noise echoing off the walls and ceiling of their spacious bedroom, drifting out the door and into the rest of their home. 

The water is heard shutting off in the kitchen and hurried footsteps reverberate down the hallway. 

Eames’ silhouette fills the entrance.

“You beckoned, darling?”

Arthur watches from underneath dark eyelashes as Eames’ eyes rove up and down his prone form, exposed skin of his stomach laid bare, hand rubbing over his trapped cock, looking debauched with a smirk curling the corners of his mouth. 

“Get your ass over here and get me naked,” Arthur commands, voice filled with desire.

“Of course, Arthur, anything you want.”

Eames hurries over to him, lust so easy to read in his eyes, a burning feeling stealing over Arthur’s skin.

He appreciates that Eames is so very good at following orders when it comes to sex.

Arthur sits up on the edge of the bed, arms up, letting Eames pull his shirt over his head, messing up already tousled hair, watching as he drops the shirt on the bed behind Arthur.

Then, Eames kneels.

Arthur unconsciously whimpers looking at him on his knees.

Eames chuckles, “Like that do you, pet?”

“You know I do.”

Arthur presses his forearms down on the bed and lifts his hips, not sure if he’s asking Eames to take off his jeans, or for something much more lewd.

Probably both. 

Damn Eames’ sinful mouth.

Nimble fingers toy with Arthur’s belt, unbuckling it bit by bit, teasing now that Arthur is giving him the opportunity.

Arthur can’t have that.

He reaches down himself, batting Eames’ hands away, and unbuttons and unzips his jeans, lifting himself enough to get both jeans and underwear down his hips and off his legs, kicking them away to land on the floor.

Arthur is naked.

And Eames is fully clothed.

Still on his knees.

Arthur takes a mental image in his mind of this moment to conjure up on lonely nights when they are halfway around the world from each other.

He can’t help himself, his fingers travel to Eames’ lush lips, rubbing back and forth against the silky surface. Eames flicks out his tongue, catching the pad of Arthur’s thumb and licking a sensuous path upwards until he takes it into his mouth, sucking lightly.

Arthur moans quietly, leisurely removing his thumb, leaving a wet smear on Eames’ bottom lip. Eames licks his lips, staring into Arthur’s eyes, no doubt tasting the salt of Arthur’s skin and the leftover sweetness from dessert.

Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep, trembling breath.

He sits still for a long minute.

“Arthur?”

Arthur keeps his eyes closed for another few seconds then opens them to lock eyes once again.

“I’m okay.”

Eames gently runs his fingers up and down Arthur’s bare thigh, soothing him.

Arthur tries so very hard not to need that reassurance.

It is ridiculous how overly sensitive Arthur is when it comes to particular sensations, craving comfort at the most inopportune times.

Eames always understands what he needs. Sometimes even before Arthur recognizes it. 

“Why don’t you get out of those clothes?” Arthur requests, pretending nothing is wrong.

Eames seems reluctant to get up, to leave Arthur’s side, but he complies, undressing quickly and without fanfare.

Arthur watches as Eames peels the clothes from his muscled figure, always longing for the bare expanse of naked skin and dark tattoos inked into Eames’ body.

Something inside Arthur settles.

He stands up, moving over to Eames, and pulling him into their first kiss of the evening. It is gentle and loving and nothing like Arthur’s original plans.

Arthur likes this better.

They gradually deepen the kiss, wet lips sliding back and forth against each other, bodies hardly touching but for their lips and the hands on the sides of each other’s necks.

Arthur tilts forward, attempting to press them closer together but Eames holds him in place, one hand falling to Arthur’s hipbone.

Arthur plans to change Eames’ mind. 

And soon.

As soon as he can end their kiss.

It takes long minutes before he can pull himself away, lips parting lightly, Eames’ hand dropping from his hip, deep breaths spilling from both of them.

Arthur yearns for more kisses already.

The ache inside him grows.

He stares at Eames, feet shoulder width apart, arms by his sides, lips wet from his kisses, standing there for Arthur to do with as he pleases.

It makes a million fantasies run through Arthur’s mind at once.

The desire to act out one in particular is irresistible.

Arthur tilts his head down, looking up from beneath his eyelashes, he coyly beckons Eames into the bathroom with him.

Eames follows, eagerly.

Arthur grins, walking backwards so he can keep his eyes on Eames’ naked form the entire time.

He will never tire of looking at Eames. Being with Eames.

Fuck, he is so in love.

Once they’re both in the bathroom, Arthur turns on the shower, letting it heat up the room, waiting for it to cloud up the mirrors with the billowing steam. He turns back to Eames, waiting so patiently for Arthur’s lead. 

He can’t wait anymore.

“C’mere, Eames.”

Eames strides over to him and Arthur immediately pulls him into a scorching kiss, bodies pressed fully together, hard muscled arms wrapping tightly around Arthur’s waist, his own fingers pressing bruises into Eames’ shoulder and jaw.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, bodies moving together effortlessly, creating pleasurable friction, until the heat in the bathroom fogs up all the mirrors.

Eames nudges Arthur backwards towards the shower and Arthur grudgingly breaks their kiss to turn around, grabbing at Eames’ hand and pulling them both into the expansive shower.

The heat wafts throughout their shower, enclosing them in a bubble of warmth.

As the glass door shuts, a last cold wisp of air enters.

Arthur shivers.

Eames presses Arthur underneath the rainfall showerhead, water sluicing down his toned figure, his hair a wet, soaking mess that Eames combs back into Arthurian perfection. 

Arthur smiles, small curls of hair already escaping around his temples, falling elegantly around his face.

Eames smiles back.

He pulls Eames under the deluge of water with him, slipping his hands over slick skin, trying to temper the desire within himself from plastering Eames’ body against his again.

He loses the battle.

Arthur tugs Eames into his lithe form, kissing him deeply, loving the sweet, slick sensation of lips upon lips. The way their bodies slide together underneath the pouring water, the inconsistent friction against his cock consuming him.

Eames parts their lips first, moving on to kissing between Arthur’s jawline and the spot on his neck that drives Arthur crazy. Arthur moans, pressing himself closer to the exquisite pleasure.

“Eames,” Arthur gasps, clutching at his lover’s slippery back.

Eames grins against Arthur’s skin, licking and nipping his way back to Arthur’s mouth and pecking him quickly on the lips.

“Want you, Arthur. Please?” Eames asks, gently running his fingers over Arthur’s cheek, lifting his face up until they’re looking into each other’s eyes.

Arthur knows exactly what Eames wants.

And he wants it just as much right now.

“Yes, go ahead, Eames,” Arthur replies, keeping eye contact, making sure Eames reads just how much Arthur wants him.

Eames grins, leaning in for a chaste kiss.

“I’ll get the lube. Be right back, darling.”

“There’s some by the shampoo,” Arthur replies before Eames can shift out of his arms.

“What?”

“Thought it was better than you having to make a mess all over the floor every time you wanted sex in the shower.”

“Think of everything, don’t you, dear Arthur.”

He shrugs, blushing faintly.

Arthur reluctantly lets Eames go, watching as he walks over to the bench in the shower, and grabs up the lube in one hand.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Eames motions for Arthur to join him by the bench. Arthur takes the two steps to get there carefully, escaping the pouring water, and standing in front of Eames, waiting now for him to take the lead.

Eames hauls Arthur back into the cradle of his body, arms encircling his slender form. Giving him a hug.

Arthur hums under his breath, sinking into the warmth of Eames’ arms. Then hugging him back.

“Love you,” Eames whispers into Arthur’s ear, then taking the lobe between his teeth and sucking gently.

“Love you – oh!” Arthur exclaims, always taken by surprise that his earlobe is an erogenous zone. His hand grips the back of Eames’ neck, pulling at the short hairs there, other hand slickly caressing what he can reach of him in this position, hips pushing shallowly against Eames’, attempting to create friction for the both of them. 

Cupping the side of Arthur’s face, he moves his lips up and down Arthur’s neck, leaving sucking kisses that’ll turn into easily identified love bites in the morning. Arthur doesn’t even care. He leans his head back, silently asking for more kisses, more bites, more of Eames’ mouth on his skin.

Eames does not disappoint, continuing his quest to mark up Arthur’s neck with the shape of his teeth. 

Arthur groans, pressing closer into the sucking kisses and bites of pleasure, enjoying every touch. 

But it doesn’t last. Eames pulls away all too soon. Arthur attempts to pull him back in but Eames resists, putting a little bit of space between them.

“Eames?” Arthur asks, half out of his mind with desire, cock hard between their bodies. 

Eames kisses Arthur hard on the mouth this time, falling into it intensely, chasing Arthur’s tongue around his mouth, breaking off the kiss for a gasp of air then going right back in for another kiss. It feels like Eames is igniting something inside of him, that fervent want from before maybe, with every kiss and caress and stroke of pleasure along Arthur’s synapses.

The pressure builds and builds within him.

Arthur thinks he might be able to orgasm simply from all their teasing foreplay.

He resists.

Eames tenderly cradles Arthur’s head in his hands, gently forcing their lips to part. Eames moans, sounding as disappointed as Arthur feels. 

“Ready for more, Arthur?”

Arthur nods his head, the endorphins skipping along his senses, leaving him in a soothing daze.

“How do you want to do this?”

Arthur tries to think up his earlier plan but nothing is triggering his initial ideas. He doesn’t try very hard. The blur of pleasure holding him together feels too good.

“Don’t care. Trust you.”

An audible gasp of air escapes Eames’ mouth at that. In that moment, Arthur doesn’t understand why.

Arthur gazes at Eames, waiting patiently for him to make a decision while he floats on the endorphins swirling in his brain.

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eames talks mainly to himself it seems. Arthur scarcely pays attention, the edges of his awareness still there, cataloging everything even without Arthur’s express permission. He just wants to soak in the pleasurable feelings. 

“Good, good, turn around and put your leg up on the bench and lean forward. Brace your hands on the wall.”

Arthur does as he’s told and spins around, away from Eames, bracing his hands on the wall behind the bench then checks his footing before doing anything else.

“Yes, that’s it, love.”

Arthur braces himself and lifts his leg onto the cold bench, spreading himself completely open for Eames to do whatever he wants to him.

It makes Arthur feel exposed.

On display.

Something in Arthur cringes every time.

The haze in his brain mostly clears.

He swallows, hard.

He trusts Eames.

Eames won’t hurt him.

And in a few seconds Arthur will forget all about that feeling, everything but Eames’ touch erased from his mind. Eames knows all the ways to get Arthur riled up and Arthur is so grateful for that in this moment of vulnerability. 

One hand falls to Arthur’s leg and he flinches, startled.

“Shh, it’s all right.”

It’s Eames’ hand, of course, spreading his legs just a touch further apart.

“That’s very good, pet. Keep your leg there now.”

Arthur hears the pop of a cap and turns his head, watching as Eames slicks the fingers of one hand with lube. The bottle gets set gently down on the bench near Arthur’s leg. Eames rubs his fingers together, making sure to coat them thoroughly.

Arthur stares as Eames braces one hand on his leg and plants both feet firmly on the ground of the shower, one leg supported against the side of the bench.

Arthur waits for the warmth of the lube and Eames’ fingers stretching him open.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Eames parts his cheeks, sliding his fingers along the sensitive skin of Arthur’s rim, lube dripping off his fingers, coating the outside of Arthur’s hole with slick.

He rubs it in gently for a few minutes, just a soft back and forth over his hole.

Arthur knows Eames is giving him time to adjust to the feeling, to get him to relax enough for the fingers he’s waiting to slide inside him.

Like always.

Eames knows exactly what Arthur needs.

And gradually Arthur relaxes into the touch.

“More, Arthur?” Eames asks, tentatively, voice sounding unsure.

“Yeah,” Arthur responds, throat clicking, a deep, shaky breath punched out of him.

“You sure?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Eames.”

“Fine isn’t exactly what I’m asking for here, darling.”

Arthur turns his head until he can meet Eames’ eyes.

“Keep going, Eames. I’m good. Promise.”

Eames stares back until Arthur turns around again to face the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut to block out everything but the sounds of water drops pinging off the marble and Eames’ steady breaths so close behind him.

Eames must take him at his word because the next thing Arthur feels is the gradual slide of one finger into his hole.

Arthur whimpers, cutting the sound off almost as soon as it passes his lips.

It is always a weird feeling, that fullness overtaking his body.

“No, let me hear you, love.”

Arthur is not shy about sex.

Yet every time Eames fingers him, he becomes overly conscious of his body, of his noises, of the sensations consuming his entire being, and the way those exposed feelings tumble involuntarily from behind his lips.

But he’ll try. For Eames.

The blackness behind his eyelids helps a little bit.

As does Eames’ voice in his ear. 

Arthur tries not to suppress his next moan when Eames’ first finger completely slips inside of him but it’s hard-fought.

Eames keeps going, sliding his first finger all the way out and then back into Arthur’s hole, resting there for a few seconds before pulling out and repeating the motion. Back and forth he presses in and out, encouraging Arthur’s body into yielding. 

Arthur takes deep breaths in, panting out his ecstasy, loving the glide of Eames’ finger inside him.

Soon, one is not enough for Arthur. They keep this up for long minutes, Arthur taking Eames’ one finger, controlling his breathing as best he can and letting the tension in his body slowly relax more and more. 

“Another, Arthur?”

Arthur nods his head and another thick finger slips inside of him. This time Arthur lets himself moan freely, pushing back against Eames’ hand, wanting more and letting himself take it.

“That’s good. Taking my fingers so well, Arthur.”

The fingers slide deeper inside Arthur, filling him up so full before pulling back and then sliding back inside smoothly, shooting pleasure throughout his body.

This time it is Eames that groans, fingers pulling out and pushing back in faster, spreading them out to stretch Arthur’s hole. Arthur instinctively clamps down on Eames’ fingers whenever he tries to pull them out.

“Feels so good. Love your tight hole. Squeezing me so well, sweetheart.”

“More, Eames. I want more.”

And Arthur gets more.

Eames thrusting his fingers in and out in a hard, steady rhythm, brushing over Arthur’s prostate every few times, sending sparks of pleasure to his hard cock.

“Can’t wait to feel you on my prick, darling.”

Arthur can’t take the dirty talk, tightening around Eames’ fingers, envisioning the filthy things Eames plans to do to him arousing him further. He gasps every time Eames’ fingers stroke over his prostate, sharp spikes of ecstasy coursing through him. 

“Going to let me, pet?” Eames whispers into his ear, shoving his fingers in faster, aiming for Arthur’s prostate, Arthur continuously letting out little noises of gratification.

“Let me slide into you inch by inch, slowly letting you feel the entirety of me filling you up.”

Arthur keens at the imagines filling his mind – of Eames’ thick cock inside of him stuffing him so full – tension escalates in his entire frame.

Arthur feels more pressure at his hole, Eames adding a third finger, pressing them all inside Arthur little by little, letting him adapt to the new thickness.

“Going to make you beg for me, sweetheart. Going to _wreck_ you. Make sure you’re not thinking of anything but me.”

Arthur lets out a deep breath, relaxing around Eames’ broad fingers, pushing back just a bit until Eames gets the message to start moving again. He does, tenderly pressing in and out, so careful with him.

“You want that, Arthur?”

Arthur attempts to answer but just then Eames’ fingers rub over his prostate again and again and all his attention is diverted by the nerves lighting up across his body. Fuck, Arthur loves that sensation. And it is the precise stimulation to get him to beg Eames for what he wants.

“Eames, please! Please, need you inside me.”

“Fuck, darling. I’ll give you my cock. Hold on,” Eames chokes out.

Eames thrusts his fingers back and forth a few more times, making sure to rub over Arthur’s prostate, spreading all three of his fingers apart, testing Arthur’s hole, making sure he’s open enough for his cock. Arthur is constantly whimpering now from the intensifying stimulation and the fact that he’s about to get what he so desperately wants – Eames’ prick inside him.

Eames must find him sufficiently ready because suddenly his fingers are gone, leaving behind a weird, empty feeling. Arthur turns his upper torso and watches as Eames picks up the lube, struggling with getting the cap open, hands shaking a slight bit. Like he is overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to deal with that feeling right now.

Arthur knows that feeling well.

He reaches down and takes the tube gently from Eames’ trembling fingers, setting it down again. Arthur takes their hands and clasps them together, holding on for a long minute, squeezing when Eames tries to pull away.

“Eames?

Eames’ eyes are closed, hands still shaky within Arthur’s palms, but it’s slowly subsiding. Eames opens his eyes, locking them with Arthur’s, lips tilting upward. 

“I’m okay.”

Arthur hesitantly disentangles himself and picks up the lube again, snapping it open, and giving it back to Eames, watching him quickly coat his hard prick in the slick substance.

Arthur turns back around and braces himself more firmly against the wall, so ready for Eames to be inside him. Arthur can feel as Eames plasters his upper chest to Arthur’s back, then Eames is lining himself up with his hole, head of his cock grazing the rim before Eames presses forward and sinks inside of him.

Arthur groans, feeling the slow, slick slide inside, the pressure and fullness, Eames stretching him out around his cock. It feels incredible and like too much all at once.

Arthur can’t help his body’s instinctive reaction, wanting to pull away and push back for more at the same time. Eames’ grip on his hip and arm around his torso keeps him from doing either.

Arthur’s toes curl on the warm marble tile, fingers scrabbling to latch on to anything they can, taking one hand off the wall and pressing his hand over Eames’ on his chest, fingers barely interlocking.

Arthur grunts loudly when Eames finally bottoms out inside of him. 

Arthur bites into his lower lip, head thrown back to rest on Eames’ shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, breath heaving. 

“Yes, lovely, darling,” Eames praises, pressing sweet kisses to the side of Arthur’s neck. 

Eames waits, holding still for Arthur, giving him the time to adjust to the new fullness and feeling.

He takes deep breaths in and out, in and out, deliberately trying to steady himself and his panting breaths so Eames can move. Eames still feels like too much. Too big filling him up. 

Fuck.

“Eames,” Arthur gasps out, turning his head on Eames’ shoulder so he can look him in the eyes.

“I’ve got you, pet,” Eames replies, brushing some of the curly hair out of Arthur’s face and leaning in to give him a soft, intimate kiss before pulling back and maintaining eye contact. 

Arthur feels like he’s hyperventilating – his body stiff, hole squeezing too tightly around Eames’ thick length, panting breaths escaping parted lips, sweat coating his already damp frame.

“I – I can’t. It’s too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ll pull out. Everything’s going to be okay, darling,” Eames begins to pull away and out of him but Arthur’s hand curls around the back of Eames’ leg, keeping him seated deep within Arthur’s body.

“No! Don’t Eames. Stay in me,” Arthur pleads, fingers pressing roughly into Eames’ muscled thigh, wanting to stop his movements.

“Not if I’m hurting you, darling.”

“Not hurting me,” Arthur whines out, body quivering in Eames’ embrace.

_It’s too much._

_It’s too much._

_It’s too much._

But at the same time – _not enough._

Arthur doesn’t know how to explain that to Eames. 

He shakes his head back and forth, trying to block out everything that’s happening within his body and lighting up his brain to be able to have a conversation.

Arthur isn’t sure what to tell Eames to get him to keep going. He knows Eames isn’t going to hurt him. Knows Eames took his time and stretched him, made him ready for his cock.

He isn’t afraid there will be pain. No, he’s overwhelmed again. And can’t relax. Arthur loathes this feeling. The fight between what he wants and what his body is allowing him to experience. 

“We can do something else, love. Or try another day. I promise it’s all okay, just let me pull out,” Eames coaxes, brushing his fingers back and forth over Arthur’s chest, holding as still as possible within Arthur’s tense body.

Arthur thinks Eames must be able to feel how hard his heart is pounding, an endless tattoo of hard thumps wanting to beat itself out of his chest. He closes his eyes and sinks into the affection of Eames’ gentle caresses.

He slowly begins to relax, everything within him quietening down.

“I always want you. Need you right now, Eames. Please?” Arthur tries to explain, not very confident he’s doing a good job of it.

He can’t fuck this up. He never wants to fuck this up. 

“Move? Please?” Arthur requests, still on that edge between too much and not enough but needing to try and get back that feeling of hazy pleasure just out of his reach.

Arthur gently lets go of Eames’ leg, hoping he’ll start thrusting into him now.

He doesn’t.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Arthur.”

“Please, Eames?”

“Darling –”

“I need you to make love to me, Eames. Please?” Arthur begs, desperate for that feeling of shared intimacy.

“Arthur…”

“Please, Eames? If it’s still too much I’ll stop you.”

There’s a long minute of silence where Arthur is uncertain what will happen, if Eames will start moving inside him or if he will pull out and leave Arthur empty. He braces himself for either decision.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Then tell me what to do,” Eames requests, hesitantly, still caressing Arthur’s skin.

Arthur appreciates the comforting back and forth movements, effortlessly providing him with a sensation to ground him.

“Keep touching me and move, slowly.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, exhaling and commanding his body to relax, waiting for Eames to finally move. To give Arthur what he so urgently needs. Eames tightens the hand on Arthur’s hip and pulls out slowly, then presses back inside at the same pace.

Arthur moans, wantonly, the friction amazing.

“That what you want, love?”

“Yeah, Eames. Again,” Arthur pleads, biting into his bottom lip, nails scratching against glossy marble.

Arthur encourages Eames with rocking back into the slow movements, repeating them over and over and over, gradually moving faster, signalling to Eames that he can handle more of his prick.

They fall into a continuous back and forth rhythm, hips thrusting shallowly, bodies meeting and falling away, noisy gasps spilling out between them. 

Arthur can’t seem to fully unwind, to let the instinctive rhythm of their bodies overtake his higher functions and settle into the ecstasy that overcomes him when they make love. 

Eames must feel Arthur tense up again because he slows the rhythm of their bodies down, small rocking movements replacing the quicker pace from moments ago.

Eames quietly comforts him, continuously running loving fingers through Arthur’s hair, careful to keep the pressure light, coaxing him into calming down again.

Trusting Arthur will tell him if he needs to stop.

He hungers for Eames, his body yes, but more than that his gentleness, the way he takes care of Arthur when he needs it most.

A quiet peace descends over the two of them.

Arthur can’t help but feel lighter.

He twists his head until they can look at each other.

“Want you, Eames,” Arthur tenderly smiles at him.

“Want you too, darling,” Eames smiles back just as softly.

They kiss lovingly, silly smiles overtaking their faces. Arthur laughs, entirely immersed in the feeling of love emanating from Eames’ eyes. Eames is laughing right along with Arthur, his whole body shaking with it. It’s creating the oddest sensation inside where they’re connected but Arthur doesn’t mind. 

He loves this man so much.

And he needs him tonight. Needs to be taken out of his head and needs to fall into the pleasure that Eames so effortlessly provides.

Arthur and Eames’ laughter dwindles out and suddenly it’s just the two of them staring at each other, pupils blown wide, heat infusing their bodies once more. 

The mood changes.

“Kiss me, Eames.”

Eames threads his fingers through Arthur’s hair, tipping his head to a better angle, and leaning in to give him a gentle kiss.

Arthur is done with gentle.

He kisses back, deepening it, turning it filthy, tongues licking into each other’s mouths, teeth catching on lips, roughly pushing and pressing and consuming. 

Arthur needs Eames to give him more of his prick, to fill him up until nothing else is important but the feelings he pulls out of him, the noises he punches out of his chest, the pulsing pressure in his cock increasing. 

The needs all of Eames.

And he needs it now.

Arthur grinds back into Eames’ body with filthy rolls of his hips, trying to entice Eames into moving. Eames pulls back and Arthur thinks he’s going to get what he needs now but instead – emptiness.

“Eames?”

“Just getting more lube, Arthur.”

Arthur nods his head, struggling to reign in his body’s needs, taking a hand off the wall and wrapping it around his throbbing cock. He keeps his touch loose, not wanting to orgasm yet.

“Still okay?”

“Yes, Eames.”

Arthur feels Eames’ slick cock at his opening, pressing in and in and in, filling up his body again, the slippery slide a shocking sensation after being empty.

Arthur closes his eyes and breathes, sinking into the feeling of fullness.

Eames starts with little grinding motions, getting Arthur used to the thickness of his cock pressing into him once more.

But this time Arthur doesn’t need slow. 

Arthur begs Eames for more, deeper, trying to express how much he needs Eames to fuck him harder, really give it to him, until he’s shaking with each slam of their bodies together.

Something in Arthur’s tirade must click for Eames because suddenly the small rocking movements are gone, instead Eames is pushing entirely into Arthur’s hole, gliding inside effortlessly, heavy breaths spilling from open mouths.

Eames thrusts in fast, powerful hips snapping forward, seating him deeply and all at once, knocking all the air out of Arthur’s lungs. He pulls back and presses forwards again quickly, repeating the motion over and over, keeping Arthur as full as possible. 

“Fuck, Eames!”

Arthur pushes back against Eames’ cock, filling himself up, taking back control for an instant.

“Yes, just like that, Arthur.”

He gives in to the seemingly endless ecstasy, bucking into every one of Eames’ thrusts, throaty sobs falling from parted lips, shaking uncontrollably in his arms.

He gets Eames to press deeper and deeper inside until he’s thrusting in and out steadily, shallow thrusts leading to more forceful penetration, harder and harder into Arthur, fuzziness clouding his head. 

Eames pounds in harshly, aiming for Arthur’s prostate, tight control depleted now that Arthur is moving with him.

“Oh fuck, Eames.”

“Arthur,” Eames chokes out between ragged breaths, speeding up his rhythm.

Arthur whines, clutching at the tiles with one hand, the other jabbing small fingernails into Eames’ thigh, encouraging him to keep up his pace.

“Need it, need you. More, Eames,” Arthur pants out, shoving his hips backwards, movements in perfect synchronization with Eames’ forward thrusts.

“Taking me so well, yes, that’s it, pet,” Eames gasps back, jerking frantically back and forth, hand gripping with bruising force to Arthur’s hip.

Arthur turns his head, locking eyes with Eames.

Arthur and Eames fall into hungry, passionate kisses, sharing their need for one another with every breathless joining of mouths. Their bodies moving in counterpoint, lips grazing and parting, sweet surrender in each meeting and parting. 

Arthur runs his tongue over his bottom lip in a slow sweep, sucking on it, tasting Eames, mouth wet from their kisses. 

Eames picks up his pace, thrusting roughly into Arthur’s hole, urged on by the frequent noises resonating from deep within Arthur’s frame.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, darling.”

Arthur is so close to coming, right on the edge, throaty sobs escaping from his wreaked throat, overstimulated in the best way, the throbbing in his cock overwhelming him. 

“Gonna come, love?”

“Don’t think I can,” Arthur whispers, voice weak, forcing his eyes shut, blocking out everything but Eames and the way their bodies are moving together.

“Yes, you can, pet. Just let me make you feel good.”

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t,” Arthur chants over and over, neck dropping back to Eames’ shoulder. One hand reaches out for Eames, slipping their fingers together and gripping tightly, grounding himself little by little, almost enough to let go. 

Eames moves their hands towards Arthur’s hard cock, stroking up and down together, pressing into all of his sensitive areas, known so well to the both of them.

It’s too intense. Arthur feels like every nerve ending in him is sending pleasure signals to his brain and he can’t catch his breath, vision seeming to fade in and out, nothing existing but the feeling of Eames around him, inside him, filling up his body as he does his heart.

Arthur squeezes around Eames’ cock, again and again, so close to his climax but not able to get there. 

“You can. That’s it. Good, good, darling.”

Arthur twists his hips into the next thrust, hitting that spot within him, the friction exquisite, breaking down Arthurs’ walls just a little bit more. 

“Oh! Right there, right there. Harder. Please, Eames,” Arthur begs, so close to climax.

Eames’ hips jerk frantically, driving in and out of Arthur’s hole, pressing in and out, deeper and deeper every time, filling him completely full of his cock until Arthur is making sinful noises from between red, bruised lips.

Arthur leans more of his weight into the wall and onto his leg on the bench, trying hard to keep his footing with the shaking of his limbs. His one outstretched arm is the only thing protecting them from tumbling into the wall and possibly onto the floor.

Eames’ heavy weight is pressing into him so good though, merciless thrusts driving into Arthur’s hole, keeping him unsteady but giving him a chance to brace them again before pushing all the way inside Arthur once more.

Arthur takes every enthusiastic thrust inside his hole with sharp pleasure, shoving back into each one, that nebulous feeling back, filling him up in the best ways possible, fervent want growing and growing inside him.

Arthur can’t keep his hips from bucking backwards hard into Eames’ pounding, the meeting of their bodies coming together roughly making loud noises that fill up the entire shower and echo back to their ears. 

“Bloody hell, Arthur,” Eames moans out between gritted teeth, gripping Arthur’s hip fiercely.

Arthur’s body is quivering in Eames’ solid hold, back arching in a sinuous curve, squeezing harshly around his cock on every outstroke, arms and legs quaking.

“Eames,” Arthur pants out, throat tight, breath trapped in his lungs, escaping forcefully in scratchy wheezes. 

Arthur squirms in Eames’ hands and around his prick, trying to find that wonderful angle again, the two of them applying light pressure on Arthur’s cock, hands moving up and down, keeping him on the very edge.

Eames is pressing marks into Arthur’s skin, nipping kisses into his throat, working over past love bites, pain blooming across his neck from already pink spots.

One especially painful bite and a forceful thrust striking his prostate and Arthur is falling apart. 

“Ahh, Eames!” Arthur shouts, eyes snapping open, shuddering in his arms.

_Fuck._

_Fuck._

_Fuck._

Arthur sobs, the friction inside him clouding his mind, the emotion building inside him powerful, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes.

Arthur feels like he’s going to shatter – like a collapsing dream – exploding apart from the outside in, falling until he suddenly wakes up. 

“Come for me, darling.”

Arthur lets go.

Eames right there beside him.

Filling him and loving him.

Keeping him safe.

And Arthur comes.

***

After they take a proper shower, rinsing off in the still hot water – thank you tankless water heater – they wrap each other in warm, fluffy towels, taking turns drying each other off.

Arthur can’t seem to stop touching Eames, needing the constant skin on skin contact. Eames must feel the same way with all of his reciprocal caresses.

His hands are constantly attempting to sneak into Arthur’s hair and stroke it. One out of five times Arthur allows it. The comforting petting is enjoyable but Arthur will never tell anyone that, least of all Eames. He doesn’t need anything else to hold over Arthur’s head. 

Arthur goes about his nightly routine, sans clothing, and happens to pass the vanity mirror while searching for his face cream. He does a double take.

“Asshole, look at what you did to my neck,” Arthur complains, fingers skimming over the vivid bruises already blooming all along his skin.

“Oops?” Eames smirks back, unrepentant.

“Fuck you very much.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, darling.”

Arthur huffs, angry at himself for liking the markings, the obvious signs that he’s taken.

“C’mere, you can give me a matching set,” Eames beckons, lying naked in their bed, legs crossed and arms behind his head, looking like sin incarnate.

Arthur smirks, stalking over to the bed and climbing on, swinging a leg over Eames’ body, straddling him.

Arthur gets distracted with stroking over Eames’ defined chest, playing with the scattering of hair there, brushing his fingers back and forth, unwilling to give up his exploration. He will never tire of Eames’ body and the changes that have happened over the years.

Arthur gets back on task, burying his head in the juncture of Eames’ neck, inhaling in his clean scent, lips gliding over the soft skin in a delicate kiss.

He licks over the area, sucking on his skin, leaving his mark upon Eames to remember this night.

He tastes Eames’ clean skin, leaving random gentle bites between sucking kisses, worrying the skin so the blood will come to the surface.

Eames pulls Arthur up by his hair after an especially biting kiss, tugging on the strands and Arthur moans.

Arthur and Eames’ eyes lock across the small space left between them, both of them leaning in at the same time for a kiss. Arthur instantly tries to deepen it. Eames breaks it, Arthur chases after him, wanting more, needing more.

Always more. 

Arthur loves pressing on the bruises on his own neck, sore to the touch, Eames’ marks reminding him of his possession. Arthur leaves the same marks on Eames’ skin, making sure he’ll have something to press on in the morning, something that’ll remind him he belongs to Arthur just as much as Arthur belongs to him. 

Now that the both of them are covered in love bites, they both forego getting dressed, just sliding under the covers naked. Arthur languorously stretches his whole body, sore, overworked muscles spreading out among the cool, white sheets.

He feels like he’s dreaming, lying in bed with Eames, arms around each other, sharing the previously empty space in Arthur’s bed.

Arthur inhales deeply and closes his eyes, that lovely, soft fuzzy feeling overtaking his brain, so grateful for these quiet moments together.

This is pure bliss.

He slips into sleep, lips curved into a smile.

***

Arthur sits in the living room, glasses perched on his nose, absorbed in reading the newest client file now that the Secret Santa exchange names have been sent out and doesn’t notice Eames is planning on leaving until he is given a brush of lips on his cheek. He glances up, Eames is bundled up in a warm coat with a scarf wrapped around his gorgeous throat.

Arthur frowns at the scarf.

He wants his marks to show on Eames’ throat for the world to see.

“Where are you going?”

“Committee meeting!” Eames replies, excitedly bouncing on his feet.

Arthur groans.

He knows what that means.

“You know, it’s almost the day.”

“Don’t fucking remind me, Eames,” Arthur grumbles under his breath, petulantly. “I have a meeting scheduled with Murphy and Dylan next week to go over security measures.”

Eames does something complicated with his face.

“What? What is it?” Arthur asks quietly, ready to jump up with the Glock hidden under the table, prepared for any intruders that might have found them.

Arthur’s security is impeccable. But even the best security in the world needs constant monitoring. And even the finest security in the world won’t always stop someone from following them home – no matter how excellent their countersurveillance – waiting for the right time to strike.

“What? What?” Eames asks, sounding completely confused.

Eames’ body language relaxes into something close to normal, sufficient enough for Arthur to unwind himself, recognizing they aren’t in any danger at the moment. That doesn’t mean he isn’t going to be checking out the entirety of their security system after this conversation ends and spending time overhauling portions of it.

“That expression that just crossed your face, Mr. Eames,” Arthur replies, sternly.

“Nothing?” Eames replies, abashedly. 

Arthur waits out Eames.

He will eventually crack.

He always does under Arthur’s penetrating gaze. 

“Shit! Stop looking at me like that, Arthur. Drive a man round the bend, that does.”

Arthur smirks, unrepentant. 

“Now, tell me. Do I need to murder someone?”

“What? No! Why would you – okay, nevermind,” Eames takes a deep breath in, blowing it out in a long huff.

“Just checking,” Arthur shrugs. “What is it then?”

“I didn’t want to tell you this yet but since you’re going to find out next week anyway…”

Eames falls quiet.

Arthur raises his hand, making a gesture for Eames to get on with it already.

“You’re not going to like the place the committee secured for the event this year.”

“I never like the places they find,” Arthur rolls his eyes and grits his teeth, recalling past revelries. 

“You’re _really_ not going like this one, Arthur.”

“Why, Mr. Eames?”

“Arthur, don’t freak out, okay?”

“That’s very comforting, thank you,” Arthur replies, acerbically.

“It…umm…has giant windows? And an enormous wraparound balcony?”

“WHAT?!”

“Calm down, Arthur. You’ll scare the neighbors.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Mr. Eames,” Arthur responds, terse words falling from his mouth. He stands up, turning in a half-circle, running his hands through his unkempt, loose hair.

“I’m sorry, love, truly. I tried to tell them you’ll never approve of the location, but everyone on the committee fancies the spot. I mean, it’s stunning and we can set off fireworks from the balcony.”

Arthur is deadly silent.

Silent like the way he is before he’s ready to pull the trigger.

Arthur stares as Eames takes his leave in a hurry.

“I’ll be home for dinner, love. Bye!” He waves farewell while hastily striding out the door.

Arthur contemplates how difficult it’d be to go back to legal dreamshare.

***

Arthur leaves for the scheduled security meeting 45 minutes in advance, following his own countersurveillance protocols, even ducking into a bakery for a sugary coffee and sticky pastry, supremely careful to get neither on his third favorite suit.

The meeting with Murphy and Dylan is about how Arthur expects it to be after Eames’ warning. Like a fucking dream filled with angry projections on steroids.

He’s charging the committee double this year on account of their insanity.

Arthur gives a fifteen minute lecture on the stupidity of the committee’s choice of location and the possibility of the dangers to all in attendance if they use the penthouse and terrace.

Arthur makes sure they listen intently to every word he says before they get down to the actual business of addressing concerns.

Arthur leaves the two talking between themselves and walks around the property by himself the first time, scoping out the whole of the first and second floor space, scratching out possible security issues in his Moleskine. The windows currently being the biggest issue, underlined twice in Arthur’s messy handwriting.

He goes over the entirety of his plans with Murphy and Dylan, talking through the ideas the committee has for setting up and decorating the first level, checking to see if there will be any other possible impediments that’ll cause them to alter their strategies.

He leaves the terrace for last.

The terrace is beautiful, a full kitchen with a giant gas grill takes up an entire corner, exotic flora decorates the sides with colored lights glowing from below them, a row of couches and chairs line the firepit off to one side, a pool complete with hot tub fills part of the veranda.

And uninterrupted views of the city beyond completes the setup.

Arthur thinks he’d like the place if it wasn’t going to be filled with the entire illegal dreamsharing community. And while they are all vulnerable to every disgruntled client or dangerous mark looking for revenge.

It would be so easy for the right people to slaughter entire groups of them at one time. But Arthur tries not to think about that. 

Arthur almost vetoes the location.

But in the end he doesn’t.

He focuses back on his list instead.

Murphy, Dylan, and Arthur all agree – only one egress in and out of the party, all other exits secured and checked throughout the event, and a rotating list of people keeping an eye out for trouble or uninvited guests at the entrance. 

Once they go through everything, Arthur asks them both if they have any additional thoughts to add to what he is amassing in his notebook. Murphy mentions potential trouble with the guest list – some bad blood between extractors – but Dylan dismisses his concerns, already having gone over the guest list with the committee at last week’s meeting, having sent out strict reminders to be on their best behavior to those that needed it.

Next on Arthur’s checklist of safety measures is scooping out possible sniper nests from the three tallest buildings with easy sightlines into their prospective event space.

Arthur would like to have continuous security in place at each building but no one wants to miss the celebration. And anyway, if it’s a professional hitter there is no way he or she would allow themselves to be spotted. The best ones always disappear with little to no footprint, making them a challenge even Arthur isn’t always capable of identifying until after the assassination.

He tries to think optimistically.

Arthur is planning on replacing all the glass with a bulletproof version as soon as he can get his supplier on the phone. It will keep them at least a little bit safer.

Arthur misses the days of having this tradition in dank warehouses with no windows and limited entry points.

It takes them the entire morning and well into the afternoon to figure out ways to implement Arthur’s enormous list of demands before the celebration. 

The committees’ Point people have their work cut out for them.

Arthur groans, already knowing Mills will be calling for assistance in executing his share of the changes. Mills suffers from what Eames calls a ‘professional crush’ on Arthur.

Arthur calls it incompetence. 

He didn’t choose the location, it’s not his problem the committee can’t figure this shit out without him.

He sighs, half a day wasted already.

Arthur knows he’ll do almost anything to keep them safe; this omnium gatherum of acquaintances and teammates and friends. Not that Arthur would ever tell any of them that fact.

Keeping the place as safe as possible for Eames is his main focus. And everyone knows that. It’s why they call on Arthur in the first place.

He is the best at what he does.

***

Arthur steps through their doorway, walking down the hall, breath whooshing out of his weary frame. Slumping, he makes his way to the living room, the most likely place Eames will be at this hour. 

Arthur is so done.

He needs a nap.

And Eames.

Not necessarily in that order. 

When he enters the room, Eames is on the floor, the newest batch of client files scattered around him. Arthur had put together preliminary research for each and color-coded the files two days ago and separated them into: yes, possibly, and hell no.

Eames, of course, is going through all of them like usual. Sometimes he finds jobs Arthur overlooked for some reason or other and puts them in a different pile to be talked over later, or finds potential jobs that he might take by himself. They rarely take separate contracts anymore but it does happen on occasion. 

Arthur adores watching Eames when he’s not actively acknowledging him.

He smiles, gently.

His Eames.

Something softens within him.

Arthur shuffles into the room properly, skimming out of his jacket and folding it over a side chair to be hung up later. He wants to collapse on the nearest comfortable surface with Eames and not move for the rest of the day. Arthur walks further into the room, sidestepping Eames’ organizational system and waits patiently for him to finish the current file before stepping closer.

Eames looks up when Arthur’s feet appear in his line of vision. 

“How did the meeting go?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Arthur states, fidgeting with an annoying thread on his sleeve.

“Okay, Arthur. Have you eaten yet?”

“Not hungry. I’ll have something later.”

“Help a bloke up then,” Eames requests, reaching an arm upwards, waiting for Arthur’s outstretched hand. Arthur supports Eames’ weight, hauling him to his feet. He keeps ahold of Eames’ hand and tugs him towards the sofa. 

Arthur toes off his shoes and sinks into the couch until he’s resting against Eames’ side, long legs curled up underneath him. Arthur sighs, snuggling into the warmth Eames so readily provides, head leaning on his broad chest. 

Arthur lets out a loud breath, closing his eyes. Sometimes having a persona to maintain is tiresome when all he wants is Eames’ fingers carding through his hair, soothing him into a peaceful doze.

“I understand why the committee likes the space.”

“But?”

“It’s not safe.”

“We’re never truly safe, Arthur.”

“I know,” Arthur whispers back.

“Oh, love. I wish –” 

“Hold me?”

“Of course, darling.”

They rearrange themselves, stretching out on the sofa together and Eames wraps his limbs tighter around Arthur, cuddling him closer into his chest and pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. Arthur lets out a long yawn, finally unwinding from the day’s stresses.

Just a small nap maybe. That’s all he needs. And then he’ll get up and make a few calls. 

He falls asleep for the night on the sofa, safe in the cradle of Eames’ arms.

***

30 hours in advance, a special notice is sent out to the entire illegal dreamsharing community with nothing but the longitude and latitude of the location.

Hopefully, it is just enough time for everyone to arrive without the chance of the location falling into the wrong hands. 

Another one of Arthur’s mandates after the Bordeaux incident.

But they don’t talk about that.

Arthur’s security checklist is complete and everything else is being set up by the committee.

His work is done.

***

Arthur is all alone in their home.

Eames left over an hour ago, off to finish last minute committee matters, leaving Arthur in his underwear and all alone with his thoughts.

He can’t help the itch under his skin, the one signaling to him that something is wrong, that even after all his preparations, something terrible is going to occur. It kicks up his heartrate, breath wheezing out of his lungs.

He tries to calm down. He will not have a panic attack. Point Men fix problems not wallow in them. 

The anxious feelings are ebbing away slowly; running through the checklist over and over in his head comforts him to a degree. He is absolutely positive he laid out the best security plan possible without outright rejecting the event space.

They need this party, the dreamsharing community.

They need their tradition.

He shoves all security concerns into the back of his mind, still there, of course, but not taking up the forefront of his consciousness. 

Instead, Arthur starts focusing on the task currently in front of him: an outfit fit for the celebration. 

Arthur rummages around his walk-in closet, picking up suit after suit and discarding them for one reason or another as not being the appropriate ensemble for the bash. 

When every outfit he checks is unsuitable, Arthur remembers the two newest shipments of clothing and accessories that were just delivered a few days ago, put away in his secondary closet for later inspection. He goes in search of those items. 

He finds a multitude of interesting new possessions: soft T-shirts, jeans with a vintage finishing, dress shirts in a variety of colors and patterns, trousers that fit his measurements flawlessly, a collection of new suits, a rather strange tux that must be something Eames asked to include, and an assortment of accoutrements to mix into his abundant wardrobe. 

Arthur grins, excited to try everything on right this second.

It will have to wait though, he has a purpose he needs to fulfill first. And a party that requires his attendance. 

Arthur spends some time sorting through the formal pieces, finally picking one of his newest suits, a three-piece sent from his favorite tailor, and figures this is the proper occasion to wear it for the first time. 

Arthur leaves the suit hanging in his primary closet, walking the short distance to another door off their bedroom. He uses the retinal scanner and types in his passcode to enter the secure room filled with weapons, all of them precisely laid out in Arthur’s neat organizational style.

Arthur walks around the room, scrutinizing the selection of weapons, contemplating his needs for the day. The committee frowns upon open carrying weapons of any sort at the party, so Arthur will have to conceal carry anything he wants to bring. 

He picks up his favorite Glock and IWB holster, a fixed blade knife and sheath, and his night vision equipment. Then goes back for an assault rifle, just in case. Arthur figures he can hide it away somewhere before the guests arrive. He double-checks his equipment, making sure everything is in working order and that he has enough ammunition and a case to carry the rifle in before exiting the room.

Then, he gets dressed.

He straps his Glock to his left side, obscuring it from view when he puts on his specially tailored jacket, in the perfect position for him to cross-draw if needed. He slides his knife in its sheath, wearing it at the small of his back, horizontally parallel to his belt in a scout carry, both weapons fitting effortlessly into place.

Arthur takes a deep breath and hopes he won’t need them.

He unlocks his assortment of timepieces, choosing one that looks elegant but in actuality works more like a military tactical watch in its function. He fastens it and picks up his jacket, sliding it on. 

Arthur looks into the full-length mirror, glow from the bright vanity lights highlighting his svelte figure, tucked into an all-black three-piece suit. Paired with a dress shirt he picked up in Rome on their last vacation, one that has a matching silk tie in the same subtle pattern as his dress shirt, his outfit is complete. 

He goes back into the closet to remove the matching tie, planning on bringing it with him and having Eames’ wear it. 

Arthur saves the best for last – his hair. He has half a mind to go to the party with his curls free, throwing down the small jar of pomade, the container skidding across the large dressing table and bumping into his comb.

Arthur snorts, that’d give the gossips something to chat about for sure.

In the end, he leaves with perfectly coiffed hair, his appearance impeccable as always. 

***

The security concerns trouble Arthur every fucking year, unable to really allow him to enjoy the jovial community celebration.

This year is no different.

If anything it’s worse.

The celebration is going on around him and he can’t get the muscles in his body to relax. Or his brain to shut off for even one second.

He is hyper-focused, checking every unused exit twice and walking the perimeter of the wraparound terrace over and over, eyes up high, looking for possible snipers in the two most likely places. Soon, he’ll have to get out his night vision equipment.

Fuck, this place is a security nightmare.

Why the hell did he think this was a good idea, again?

He walks past new dreamers, some whom try to stop him for a chat, but he just waves them off, continuing his circular route around the place, stopping for long moments at key points around the terrace.

It’s been hours already. And yet, the day is far from over.

Arthur just wants to go home.

Go home with Eames and curl up on the sofa again and put everything about sightlines and windshear and calculating best angles for maximum causalities out of his mind.

_Nothing bad is going to happen. Nothing bad is going to happen. It won’t. It won’t. It won’t._

If he repeats it enough to himself maybe it’ll come true. Arthur rolls his eyes at himself, he doesn’t really believe mantras will keep anything horrible from happening. 

His tired eyes don’t stray from the highest building, straining to make out even a hint of a reflection.

Strong arms come up around Arthur’s torso, pulling him back against a solid chest. Arthur’s body relaxes infinitesimally, recognizing Eames’ presence, identifying him in Arthur’s mind and categorizing him as non-combative.

Arthur rarely allows public displays of affection in front of those in dreamshare, but at least half of them had placed bets on when they’d get together, so hiding it is a rather pointless endeavor.

Arthur leans back into the embrace for hardly a minute, eyes still tracking the possible threats nearby.

“C’mon, Arthur. Let’s get you inside. You need a rest.”

“Can’t Eames.”

“I already have Murphy and Dylan and Mills doing sweeps. You can take five minutes away.”

Arthur turns in Eames’ hold, lips pressing close to Eames’ ear.

“Love you.”

“Love you too, pet,” Eames whispers back.

The sun begins to set as they walk closely together into the penthouse.

***

Arthur is exhausted.

The members of the underground dreamsharing community certainly know how to throw a wild party.

Arthur wants to laugh about the time Eames made a quip during inception about Fischer’s security running him down but he refrains from snorting inelegantly in front of his coworkers.

It would ruin his persona.

The riotous afternoon turns into a rambunctious evening filled with outlandish singing, a rousing game of Marco/Polo, and something that might be characterized as dancing. Possibly. In an alternate universe.

The overly spiked punch is flowing generously, glasses in nearly everyone’s hands, boisterous laughter spilling out onto the veranda from inside the open concept penthouse. 

The outdoor grill is being put to good use, the smell of savory meats permeating the air. Arthur’s stomach grumbles but he ignores it, too hyped up to eat right now.

Arthur’s eyes continue to rove back and forth cataloging everything in his sightline while he moves along the outskirts of the terrace, night vision equipment held at the ready for when he bypasses the buildings he needs to watch. Then, he travels room to room to room, checking and double-checking the security, then retracing his steps again and again.

So far nothing is out of the ordinary. 

The short break earlier had helped but the constant need to keep moving, keep checking, keep watching is wearing even Arthur’s stamina down.

He passes other Point people, doing their minor jobs, and gives them each nods, acknowledging their hard work on this day of leisure. He’s absolutely sure they’re still partaking in the festivities but at least when it’s their time to work, they’re taking it seriously.

***

The annual Secret Santa exchange will take place soon and everyone will be congregating inside the first floor area near the giant table lined with gifts in all manner of sizes and wrappings.

It is the main event of the entire celebration.

Arthur can’t wait. With everyone inside partaking of the gift giving, it means he gets another short break from his duties.

Raucous laughter can be heard from inside the luxurious space, Eames’ voice mixing in with the crowd of partygoers. He thinks he hears Ariadne and Yusuf’s voices too but can’t be sure with all the noise.

He’ll have to try and catch a moment away to speak to both of them and the few other friends that are in attendance. Maybe after the exchange but before people start trickling back outside.

Committee members begin herding people indoors, chatter scattering throughout the crowd that the gift exchange will start in ten minutes.

The people splashing around in the pool start to calm down, climbing out and drying off, ready for the main event. Others keep up their conversations, knowing they have enough time before they need to head into the penthouse.

Arthur waits patiently. 

Once everyone moves inside, he follows.

The Secret Santa exchange goes off without a hitch. Just like it always does now that Arthur took over the responsibility of matching gift givers to recipients.

Some hilarious gifts are received, some practical ones, and a few pretentious gifts slip in amongst the normal holiday gifts. Everyone ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ over the exchange gifts and the hilarious guesses from the recipients as to their gift givers. Very few matches are guessed correctly. Arthur surmises that’s part of the fun of the event for them. 

Arthur receives a lovely tie from Raul, smiling and thanking the extractor.

Eames receives a rare cookbook and can’t stop jumping around waving the thing around like some sort of trophy. He’s obviously sampled enough of the punch. Or maybe it’s just Eames being Eames. It’s always hard to tell.

Arthur knows all the matches, yet it’s still amusing, the mayhem the exchange turns into every year and how much everyone can’t wait for the next year once it ends. 

He swallows, hard. Barely nodding his head up and down to himself.

It is a tradition.

***

Arthur is walking the same route for probably the hundredth time by now and runs straight into Eames while rounding a corner. In the deserted hallway, Arthur tries to sidestep Eames to go back to his routine, but he grabs Arthur by the shoulders, stopping his forward momentum. 

“Eames?”

“Arthur, you can stop now.”

“What? I’m busy. The party isn’t over yet.”

“Burns, Mills, and Ibrahim are going to take over security for the rest of the night. You get to rest, love.”

“What?”

“I’ve already arranged everything, all you need to do is have a good time now.”

“What? How’d you do that, Eames?”

“Called in some favors.”

“Must’ve been some favors.”

“It’s nothing.”

Arthur doubts that. Favors are the highest currency there is in their line of work. 

“You shouldn’t have.”

“You need the break, Arthur.”

“I would have been fine. But thank you, Mr. Eames.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

Arthur pulls Eames in by his tie and they share a tender kiss.

***

Now that Arthur has the time to explore the place, he really sees the hard work the committee went into making the space one of uncompromising beauty.

Inside the penthouse, there is décor for every major December holiday from around the world. Two Christmas trees soar high into the air, decorated with multicolored lights and pretty ornaments. A Yule log burns in the fireplace. Menorah’s candles burning brightly on one of the tables. Songs and dances, African drums, storytelling, poetry reading, and so much more can be heard throughout the space.

A variety of foods from across the globe fill table upon table upon table, delicious smelling entrees to bowls of toshikoshi-soba to sweet desserts and everything in between. The chocolate truffle cheesecake melts in Arthur’s mouth. 

The terrace is decorated exquisitely, lights strung up everywhere and turned on now that it’s nighttime, the flames from the grill leaping up to the sky, and the exotic flora saturates the air with their sweet scent.

The area that lines the firepit is filled with a mixture of dreamers, some highly experienced, while others are just starting in the business, listening to stories of past extractions and laughing uproariously. 

The heated pool and hot tub is overflowing with people, limbs brushing up against each other, while splashing around like a bunch of kids hyped up on sugar. Or rather adults that have consumed too much spiked punch.

The spiked punch is, no doubt, a concoction Eames helped create if the gleeful expression on his face had meant anything. He’d handed Arthur a glass and ran away, cackling.

Arthur takes a sip of the punch, the sweet liquor hitting hard from the first swallow. He can’t help but take another sip; it’s addicting.

The view of the city beyond is breathtaking.

Arthur takes a long moment to appreciate the sight.

Once it is fully dark, they turn the lights out and the fireworks begin. Rich reds and cold blues, yellows in varying shades, vivid pinks and smoky purples, shiny greens brightening the inky night sky.

It’s beautiful.

Even Arthur can admit that.

The committee went all out this year.

It is always surprising to Arthur, seeing the community come together, leaving all manner of disagreements at the door every year and delighting in a crazy day and night filled with all manner of indulgences and scandalous entertainment.

Eames comes out to the terrace, wrapping his arms tightly around Arthur, gazing upwards at the fireworks show. Arthur lets a small smile curl the corners of his lips.

Maybe this feeling right here is why they keep repeating this celebration every year.

Maybe Arthur is just being sentimental.

He smiles, looking at the fireworks lighting up Eames’ face; he is so gorgeous.

***

When they return home, Arthur quietly walks towards the bedroom, while Eames stops off in the kitchen to get them both a glass of water.

Arthur and Eames shift around each other effortlessly, going about their nightly routines.

Eames is setting out pajamas for the two of them. Arthur is slipping out of his own suit jacket then picking up Eames’ discarded jacket before taking them both into the closet to be hung up properly until they can be dry-cleaned. 

Moving on autopilot, Eames follows Arthur, leisurely undressing and hanging up the rest of his outfit. Arthur takes off his clothes and weapons in an orderly fashion, piece by expensive piece, stripping down to only underwear and watch quickly and efficiently. ~~~~

They both move towards the bedroom together, getting into their pajamas. Arthur sets his watch down in the various detritus sprawled on his nightstand to be taken care of later.

He takes a long gulp of water from the glass Eames left on his bedside. The cold water slipping down his throat is heavenly. He drinks half the glass before setting it down and getting ready to climb into bed.

“Thanks for today, Arthur.”

Arthur looks over to Eames.

“I’m pleased you enjoyed yourself,” Arthur responds, “But what’re you thanking me for? The committee did most of the work.”

“True, we did our parts. But you had veto power over the place, yet you still let us host the celebration there.”

Arthur shrugs, “It’s what Mal would have wanted.”

Arthur looks to the side, small, wistful smile on his lips.

“Oh, Arthur.”

“Shut up, and come here and kiss me.”

Eames walks over to him, welcoming hands come up, holding each other delicately by the sides of their necks, foreheads simply resting against each other, softly murmuring to each other while still remaining close.

“You’re so beautiful, Arthur. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Eames! Stop it,” Arthur grumbles, lowering his eyes, face flushing an unbecoming shade of red while a smile unwillingly lights up his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. He will never tire of Eames’ compliments, overwhelming tenderness rising up inside of him. 

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too, Eames.”

“Kiss me now?”

“Oh, darling, forever.”

Arthur leans in first, pressing the sweetest of kisses to Eames’ mouth, tasting the liquor lingering on his full lips. They kiss and kiss, fleeting presses of lips to lips, enjoying being together in the home they created. 

Breaking the kiss, Arthur stays close, enjoying the pure intimacy of the moment.

“I love you, Eames.”

“Love you too, darling.


End file.
